


I Think I Want to Marry You

by Goodforthesoul



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, jonsa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-15 09:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11803128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goodforthesoul/pseuds/Goodforthesoul
Summary: They were on one of these quiet, companionable walks when Jon stopped. They were alone in the godswood and he looked at her for a long time before speaking, something mournful and almost longing in his eyes. “I suppose it’s my duty to finally find husbands for you and Arya. Now that the war is over, I mean.” He said, his mouth forming a tight, tense line, his eyes looking sadder than they usually did.





	1. Chapter 1

The war was over and the winter had been held back and the King had returned to the North. Jon had come home to Winterfell, grimmer than he was before. He had gained scars and lost friends during the wars and it showed in his eyes, which were still kind, but so full of sorrow for those who the fighting had taken from him. Jon had always been quiet, but now Sansa found him almost as silent as Ghost, who stayed beside him, like a white shadow against the melting snow.

They walked the castle together. He would offer occasional compliments about how well she had run things in his absence, and she would feel the blood rush to her cheeks and hope that the flush would be blamed on the winter winds that still blew from the north.

 They were on one of these quiet, companionable walks when Jon stopped. They were alone in the godswood and he looked at her for a long time before speaking, something mournful and almost longing in his eyes. “I suppose it’s my duty to finally find husbands for you and Arya. Now that the war is over, I mean.” He said, his mouth forming a tight, tense line, his eyes looking sadder than they usually did. 

Sansa could not suppress a sharp laugh.

“What?” he asked. His eyebrows raising the way they always did when he was confused.

“Arya would not have submitted to marrying some lordling even before.” She did not have to say before what. Jon knew, better than most. “You remember the girl she was and you know the woman she is now. Who is the Seven Hells do you think is brave enough to marry her? Especially if she is… resistant to the match.”

“You know I would never force her to wed.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t, Jon. Which is why Arya likely won’t.”

“But what of you, Sansa?” he said, his voice soft and gentle. “Is it not my duty to find you a lord husband?”

“I do not wish to wed again.”

He looked at her, bemused. 

“I’ve been married twice already, Jon,” she said, a small sad smile playing at the corners of her lips. “And neither experience has been particularly pleasant.”

“I thought you said that Tyrion was kind to you? He told me…”

“He was,” she looked away from him, focusing on the trees of the godswood. “He didn’t rape me or beat me, and he did his best to ensure that I was comfortable, protected. He promised me on our wedding day that he wouldn’t hurt me, and he didn’t. Even before we were force to wed, he saved me from Joffery’s cruelty, from being stripped and beaten in the middle of the throne room. And he tried his best to help me after Robb and Mother….” She couldn’t look at him while she recounted the horrors she had known, because she did not want to know how he was looking at her: a poor girl who had been beaten and broken and defiled by the wars. “Tyrion Lannister is a good man. He has a noble heart. I see that now, even if back then I was too stupid to look beyond his…. But our marriage was not a happy one, Jon. It was arranged as a Lannister grab for Winterfell. And to embarrass him and humiliate me.”

“But there must always be a Stark in Winterfell,” he said, hoping that she would recognize that he was talking about children, but too embarrassed to broach the subject with her. Not like this. Not when talking about some lord in her bed.

She understood. “There will be no more Starks.” She turned to face him, her eyes holding his. “My grandfather had three sons, one died, one took the black, and one had three sons of his own. Of my father’s sons, two are dead, and Bran… well, you’ve seen Bran. He has given up his title and even if he didn’t he cannot father sons of his own.

“There have lots of houses to fall during these wars. The Tyrells, the Freys, the Tarleys. The Starks will be added to this list. At least we will fade away peacefully in the coming spring instead of being rooted out with the violence of winter wars experienced by some of the others.”

“You’re being very philosophical about this.”

“What choice do I have? Even if I wed and give birth to a line of sons, I will be expected to take their father’s name. And so will they."

“You’ve been married two times and have remained Sansa Stark. Do you think another marriage will change that?”

“Things were different during the war,” she answered simply. “Do you think that I will find a lord who is willing to give up his house sigil for the Direwolf, his house name for Stark?” She sighed. “Westeros does not make men like that.”

“Would you have me?”

“Jon?”

“I would gladly take the name of Stark. Honestly, it is all that I wanted most of my life.”

“But, Jon. You’re a Targaryen. Prince Rhaegar’s true-born son.”

“It doesn’t matter, Sansa.”

“What do you mean ‘it doesn’t matter?’”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But Jon…”

“I’ve lived my life with no name other than Snow. It doesn’t matter what they decide to call me now because of what some old book says about the man who fathered me.”

“Jon….”

“Listen, Sansa.” He took her hands in his. “I know that I’m not the sort of lively, charming princeling that you always imagined marrying. That you should have married and probably would have if things had turned out differently. But I also know that I love you, Sansa. I’ve been in love with you for longer than I would care to admit. And I might not be lively or charming but I promise you that I will love and protect you for as long as I live.”

“You’re wrong,” she said softly, and she saw his face fall, his sad eyes even sadder, and he dropped her hands. “No. Not like that. I just mean that I’m glad I didn’t marry a silly Southron princeling. That was the stupid dream of a stupid girl.” She lay her hand gently on her arm. “What I’m trying to say, Jon, although not very well, is that I will marry you. I’m not in love with a princeling. I’m in love with a king, good and noble and true, who cares more about his people than feasting and dancing, who fights only in the wars he must, not the foolish games of tourneys, who is the wisest and kindest and fiercest and gentlest man I have ever met.” 

“Truly?”

She stepped toward him and he caught her up in his arms. When their lips touched, his, at first, seemed tentative unsure. But she threaded her fingers through the loose curls of his hair and pulled him closer, and his uncertainty melted like the snow beneath their feet.

“Truly.” Her forehead resting against his, their noses touches, their lips a whisper apart. “I love you, Jon.”

 “And you’ll let me take the name of Stark.”

“I don’t have to let you. You’re one of us. You always have been. You might not have been father’s natural son, but he raised you as his own, as a Stark. Besides, you’re the King in the North. You can take whatever name you choose.”

He pulled back to look at her. “Well, I suppose, that takes care of one Stark girl.” Jon’s somber face broke into a smile, and she felt it mirrored on her own. “Now, who in the Seven Hells am I going to find to marry your sister.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of her felt like she was performing a role: the little sister playfully teasing her older brother. It felt like putting on the face of the Arya from long ago. Arya before the wars and the death and the killing. Arya before she had tried to become no one and learned how to be anyone. Because Jon wasn’t her older brother any longer; he was a Targaryen and her cousin and going to marry her sister. He had changed so much and Arya had changed too. Still, there was comfort in slipping into these old roles, like putting on a pair of well-worn boots. (And part of her thought that if she played the role well enough, she might become that Arya again.)

“You and Sansa? Are you serious?” Arya could not subdue her laughter. It felt good to laugh. She hadn’t laughed in a long time. 

Jon waited for her to finish before clearing his throat. “Yes. Your sister and I, we, uh, became…. close during the…”

“Gods, are you blushing, Jon?” She laughed again. She liked his blushes. They reminded her that the boy she once knew is still hidden within the grim king who stood before her.

“Am not.” 

“Yes. You are. You’re blushing.” She leaned closer to him. “Don’t worry, if I were marrying Sansa, I’d be embarrassed too,” she whispered conspiratorially.

Part of her felt like she was performing a role: the little sister playfully teasing her older brother. It felt like putting on the face of the Arya from long ago. Arya before the wars and the death and the killing. Arya before she had tried to become no one and learned how to be anyone. Because Jon wasn’t her older brother any longer; he was a Targaryen and her cousin and going to marry her sister. He had changed so much and Arya had changed too. Still, there was comfort in slipping into these old roles, like putting on a pair of well-worn boots. (And part of her thought that if she played the role well enough, she might become that Arya again.)

“I’m not… Seven Hells. You’re a little snark, you know that?”

She grinned impishly at him. “When will the wedding be?”

“As soon as possible,” he answered quickly. She raised an eyebrow and he blushed again.

“Well, Jon, if that’s truly what you want…”

“It is. Truly,,” he said hastily. “I love your sister. And I’ll be a good husband to her; I promise you that Arya." 

“I know you will.” She smiled, the teasing gone from it. “And I think she’ll make you a good lady wife. She’s not so bad anymore, not like when we were children.”

“Sansa’s been through a lot,” he said softly, his eyes full of sad tenderness.

“We’ve all been through a lot.”

“Which is why we deserve to take happiness where we can find it. For me, that’s with Sansa.” He looked at her intently. “Have you given any thought to who might make you happy?”

“Are you asking me who I want to marry, Jon?”

“If you want to marry. Sansa seemed to think that you may not want to. She said, in no uncertain terms, that it is not my duty to find you a husband.”

Arya smiled. “She’s right. If I want a husband, I’ll find him myself.” 

* * *

 “What are you grinning about?” Gendry had returned to Winterfell after the wars. Jon had told him that he had a birthright to Storm’s End; he was the last Baratheon and the castle was his house’s seat. But so far, Gendry hadn’t taken Jon up on the offer. He had told Jon that he didn’t know the first thing about running a castle or being a lord. He had lived his life as a bastard smith, not a highborn prince. And Jon had nodded with understanding.

“Sansa and Jon." 

“What about them?”

“They are getting married,” she said, biting back laughter.

“So, he finally asked her.” He smiled knowingly. 

Gendry’s comment cut off her mirth. “How did you know?” she demanded.

“It was obvious.”

“You’re too observant for you own good. You always have been.”

“Everyone knew.”

“Everyone?” 

“Yes. Everyone.”  
  
“I didn’t.”

“Of course, you didn’t.”

“What do you mean by that? Are you saying I’m stupid?” she asked sharply.

He sighed. “It’s not because you’re stupid. It’s because you still see them as they were. Not as they are.”

She was about to respond, some cutting remark on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t. She knew he was right, though she would never actually admit it. They had all been away for so long and none of them had returned home the same they were.

“It’s good. Now that the war is over. People should begin making plans, rebuilding.”

“What plans are you making?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Before the wars, I knew my place in the world. Now. Now, I’m not sure. I may have a name, but I still don’t have a family. My mother, father, uncles, cousin, their all dead.”

“You could make your place here,” she said softly, seriously.

“This is your place. You and your family’s.”

“I can be your family.”

The words hung in the air between them. She had made that offer once before, and he had rejected it. But it was different now. Then she had been a child, a little girl, desperate to hold onto her friend. Now she was a woman grown and the words took on a different meaning.

“What are you asking me?” Gendry asked, his voice level. 

“Nothing. Forget it.” Arya started to walk away, but Gendry gently placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“No. Tell me.” The corners of his mouth quirking into a smile. 

“I’m not going to ask you anything. Not if you are going to be an idiot about it.” 

“You shouldn’t insult people bigger than you.” He laughed.

“Then I wouldn’t get to insult anyone.” She said defiantly. But that defiance quickly broke into a smirk. It felt good to be this Arya again.

But Gendry wasn’t smirking back. He was looking intently into her face, and the seriousness of his expression caught her off guard. “Would you be my lady, Arya Stark?”

“No,” she said. “I’m not a lady, Gendry. I never have been. But I may think about maybe marrying you.” She paused. “Someday at least.”

“No? First you ask… then you…. How can one so small be such a huge pain in my ass?”

“If I’m such a pain in the ass, why do you want to keep me around?” 

“Seven Hells if I know.”  ****He smiled affectionately at her.

“Listen, Gendry,” she said seriously. “Of all the men I’ve met, I think I like you best.”

He looked down. “But you want to keep your options open?”

“No. I’m just not ready yet. Sansa and Jon might be tripping over their feet to wed, but not me. These past few years… all I’ve known has been violence and survival. I almost lost myself out there. I’ve been Arry, Nan, Salty, Cat of the Canals, Blind Beth, and No One. And I think I just need to find Arya and be her for a while again.” She paused. “But for right now, I do want to your family and your friend.”

“And after that?”

“And after that, I’ll marry you Gendry. Assuming you still want the Arya I find.”

“If she is the Arya I know, then I think I will.”

“You just have to promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You can’t tell anyone about this. If Sansa knew I was even thinking about marriage, she would never let me hear the end of it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon had wanted a simple wedding, small and private, with just their family and close friends. And although Sansa wanted that to, she told him that they simply could not do that. 
> 
> “You are their king,” she told Jon. “If you do not invite them to your wedding, they may view it as a slight. As much as I wish things weren’t this way, they are. Now that we finally have peace, we do not want to give the lords any reason to grumble into their beards.”

Jon had wanted a simple wedding, small and private, with just their family and close friends. And although Sansa wanted that to, she told him that they simply could not do that.  

“You are their king,” she told Jon. “If you do not invite them to your wedding, they may view it as a slight. As much as I wish things weren’t this way, they are. Now that we finally have peace, we do not want to give the lords any reason to grumble into their beards.”

He knew that she was right. She was always right about things like this. So the ravens were sent and the great houses of the North invited.

“The wedding feast, at least, will be modest,” Sansa had reassured him. “Stores are low and the spring harvest may yet be many months away. I’ll not have our people starve so that we can feast.”

Now he stood in front of the heart tree, waiting for her. They had been in the godswood when he has asked her if she would have him, and now this was where they were to be wed. The sun hung low, bright oranges and reds that reminded him of Sansa’s hair splashed across the sky, fading into light pinks and the deep purples and indigos of night.

 He fidgeted with his sword hilt, unable to keep still. Gods, he was nervous and excited, impatient and terrified.

“Are you quite alright, your grace?” asked Davos, who stood beside him.

Jon turned to face his Hand. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’ve seen you charge into battle and plunge north of the wall, walk into the lion's den, ride a dragon and kill the Night King. You’ve done many brave and foolish things. And I do not think I’ve ever seen you look so nervous. I know this is a risky bit of politicking, but it’s one of the smartest things you’ve done and surely it can’t be scary as all that.”

Jon grinned and was about to answer, but then he saw Sansa. She walked between the rows of lanterns, twinkling in the twilight, and passed the Northern lords and ladies. She was escorted by her two surviving siblings, the remaining Starks, Arya pushing Bran in his wheeled chair. They were there not to give their sister away, but to officially welcome him back into their family, their pack.

Her dress was fine but simple, a creamy ivory against her pale skin, the only embellishment was a wolf embroidered across her chest, and her auburn hair was in Northern braids. She also wore a white cloak, lined with silvery fur, and decorated with the grey direwolf of House Stark. She did not need fancy clothes or hair styling. She was a queen, beautiful and strong and perfect, and any fool who looked at her could see it. 

Sansa stopped in front of Davos and Jon, and the Hand of the King stepped forward, reciting the ancient words: “Who comes before Old Gods this night?”

“Sansa of House Stark, the Lady of Winterfell, who is here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered. Trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?” Bran intoned.

Jon stepped forward. “King Jon of House Targaryen, first of his name, King in the North. Who gives her?”

“Brandon of House Stark, who is her brother.”

“And her sister, Arya of House Stark.”

“Lady Sansa, will you take this man and his name?” Davos asked.

Sansa could not suppress her shudder. The ceremony, the words, it was all too familiar. She could not help but be reminded of that night, when she had been given to a monster, wed to Ramsay. He had claimed her, marked her, ripped her apart and she had sworn never to be in that position, to be so powerless, again. She would not submit herself to the mercy of a man--- far too many men knew nothing of mercy.

She took a deep breath. But this was not any man. This was Jon. Good, kind Jon. Who had kept her safe and protected her from Ramsay and the return of the Long Night. He had trusted her with Winterfell, the North, his heart. And he could be trusted with her. 

She stepped toward Jon. “I take this man. But not his name.”

There were gasps and murmurs of disapproval among the lords bearing witness.

“My lords,” Jon turned to face them. “My father might have been a Targaryen, but I am no dragon. The North flows through my veins, as does blood of the Starks, though it is Lyanna’s, not Eddard's. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and so I take the name of Stark, which my wife, Lady Sansa, is kind enough to give me.”

The lords seemed unsure. Such things simply were not done. A man did not take the name and House of his lady wife.

“Jon is a Stark,” Sansa said, taking his hand, her voice clear and powerful and true. “He was born of a Stark. He was raised by Starks. He keeps the Old Gods and the Northern ways. He has the heart of a Stark and now he will have the Stark name.”

There was an uncertain pause.

“He is our King." Lady Lyanna Mormont asserted, her high voice steely and strong. “And Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark.” She nodded to Jon and the other lords fell silent. They had named him their king; he could name himself a Stark.

The ceremony continued. Sansa and Jon clasped hands and knelt in front of the heart tree, praying silently to the Old Gods. He then removed her maiden cloak and replaced it with one that bore his sigil, a white wolf on a grey field, the new sigil of House Stark. Once that was done, he picked her up in his arms, she wrapped hers around his neck.

“I hope you were offering a pray of thanks to the Gods for Lyanna Mormont,” she whispered into his ear, as he carried her back to the great hall of Winterfell. “I’m not sure that the lords and ladies would have accepted without her.”

“Aye. I should have,” he murmured in reply. “But all of my prayers of thanks were for you agreeing to take me as your husband.”

“I would have accepted you without the intercession of the Gods or Lady Mormont. I’m not so sure the same can be said about the great Northern houses.”

The feast was modest, but well prepared and the ale and wine flowed freely. The lords and ladies came up to the high table to pay their respects to the King in the North and his new queen. Gendry and Arya teased Jon and shared secret smiles that Sansa would have to ask her sister about later. As was his way, Bran kept mostly to himself.

After the lemon cakes were served, Jon turned to Davos.  “There will be no bedding this evening.”

“I think that’s wise, your grace.”

“You do? I thought you would object. On account of tradition”

“I believe, unless I am mistaken, that your uncle also forewent the bedding. And I’ve seen you look at men with murder in your eyes just for mentioning Lady Sansa. I think it’s best if you get through the evening without any bloodshed.” Davos paused for a moment. “I beg pardon, your grace. Sometimes I speak too freely.”

Jon grinned and clapped the other man on the shoulder. “No need to apologize for speaking true. I hope you always will. I suppose that I have been a bit…. over-protective of Sansa.”

Davos nodded. “Understandable given what she has been through. There are a lot of monsters in this world. Some literal, some not. You and your queen have encountered more than your fair share of them.”

“We all have. Let us just hope that the time of fighting and monsters and bloodshed has passed.”

So instead of a bedding, Sansa and Jon slipped quietly from the Great Hall and walked, hands clasped, to the Lord’s Chamber. There was already a fire burning in the grate, and the room was warm and inviting, but Jon lingered by the door. Sansa had delicately told him about her wedding night with Ramsay, not a detailed description, but she had said enough that knew what had happened to her, what she had survived, and now he did not know what to do. 

Her back was to him and she unbraided her hair, the loose auburn waves glowing in the firelight. She then turned to look at him where he stood stiffly, uncertain what to do. “Are you coming to bed, Jon?” she asked.

“I… uh…. Sansa,” he managed. “I promised to protect you. And I meant it.”

“I know. You have protected me.”

“Well… I…. it’s just tonight…. We….” He could feel heat rising in his cheeks and knew he sounded like a fool. But he did not know the words to say what he needed to communicate to her.

Thankfully, she seemed to understand his hesitation, his awkwardness. “And tonight you are afraid that you need to protect me from you.” He nodded. “Oh, Jon.” She crossed the room so that she was in front him, her arms around his neck. “The things that Ramsay did.... I know that it is not supposed to be that way between a husband and wife. And you are the furthest thing from Joffery and Ramsay and all of the horrid men like them. I trust you, Jon. I trust you to protect me. I trust you to care for me. I trust you to love me.”

He ran his hands over her hair and kissed her forehead. He pulled away, his eyes meeting hers, then traveling down to her lips. “Jon,” she breathed, and then kissed him, her soft lips equal parts yielding and demanding. They tasted of sweet red wine and lemon cakes. He tangled hand in her hair pulling her closer, pressing her body against his. He felt himself grow hard at her closeness, her strong and supple body, the desire that he felt for her. She moaned against his mouth. 

He pulled away. “Did I…?” She answered the question in his eyes with a shake of her head. “You must let me know,” he said, “if I hurt you.”

“I will, Jon,” she assured him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes liquid and dark. “Now take your wife to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to tweak the marriage ceremony a bit in order to make sure that Jon was a Stark (as he should be!), so I hope that works. 
> 
> Also, another Arya/Gendry chapter is coming. I got a bit carried away with Jon/Sansa in this one! But with the season 7 finale coming up tonight, I think we can all use a little Jonsa love.


End file.
